


Denial Isn't Just a River In Egypt, Sometimes It's an Ocean and That Sucks When You Already Can't Really Swim

by aintitnifty



Category: Gintama
Genre: Gen, Presumed Dead, Sougo Experiences Something Like Feelings And He Does Not Approve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintitnifty/pseuds/aintitnifty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hijikata is missing and Sougo is definitely not at all concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denial Isn't Just a River In Egypt, Sometimes It's an Ocean and That Sucks When You Already Can't Really Swim

“Kondou-san.”

Okita stood at attention as he waited for Kondou—still bleary-eyed and tousle-haired from sleep—to look up from the newspaper spread across his lap and at Okita, waiting in the open doorway. Okita wondered vaguely if Kondou was even reading the articles or if he just stared at the pages to make it look like he was being productive. (Okita suspected the latter.)

“Eh?” Kondou said, all mid-morning eloquence. “What’s wrong?”

“Hijikata-san skipped this morning’s drills.”

That got Kondou’s attention. He blinked, brow furrowed, and carefully folded and set aside the paper, all the while frowning at it like it had done him some terrible wrong.

“That’s not like him,” he said, once again directing his gaze up at Okita. “Is he sick?”

“I don’t know,” Okita said. “His futon was untouched this morning. I don’t think he slept there.” And after all of the trouble Okita had gone to soaking the underside of Hijikata’s pillow with rat poison, too. The nerve of some people.

Kondou rubbed his chin, calloused fingers scraping lightly against the dark growth of stubble.

“You mean you haven’t seen him all morning?”

“No.”

“Do you remember him coming in last night?” Kondou asked.

“I didn’t notice.”

Kondou’s frown grew more pronounced. “Aren’t your rooms right next to each other?”

“Yes, but I usually fall asleep before he does. You know how long his pre-sleep routine is, and that’s not even counting when he has to take a shit.”

Kondou grunted and got to his feet, then placed his hands to the small of his back and stretched.

“Well,” he said, squinting into the muted morning light coming in through the fusuma, “it seems too early for us to start worrying. Maybe he ran a full-night patrol or something. Or maybe he was just out drinking. If you don’t hear from him by tonight, let me know, will you?”

Okita raised his hand in a half-hearted salute. “Yes, Commander.”

“Thank you, Sougo,” Kondou said. “Dismissed.”

*

It wasn’t that Okita had missed Hijikata that morning, per se. It was more that Hijikata’s absence was an irritant. Okita was used to him skulking around, because wherever Hijikata was skulking was where Okita would do his own skulking, waiting for Hijikata to stumble upon one of the myriad traps Okita had set for him.

But Hijikata remained absent for lunch, and for afternoon drills, and for an emergency call made in the late afternoon concerning a giant predatory bird that turned out to be just a senile old man on a hang-glider.

Consequently, by the time Okita was making his way to Kondou’s room for his evening report (that no, Hijikata had _not_ miraculously shown up at some point during the day, and wasn’t this whole thing just a sure sign that Okita was clearly meant to be vice-commander, and Hijikata could be forgotten entirely?), Shinsengumi headquarters was a-buzz with gossip. Everywhere Okita went there were murmurs of what had become of the vice-commander, whether he was taking an impromptu day off, whether he’d been kidnapped, whether he’d ever actually existed at all (Okita blamed Yamazaki for that particular rumor, which had apparently begun as a joke and then spread like a wildfire of stupidity through the ranks).

The door to Kondou’s room slid open before Okita could even raise a fist to knock, and Okita found himself faced with a very solemn commander.

“Anything?” Kondou said.

“Not a word.”

Kondou stepped back from the door, rubbing a hand over his hair, and slid the door closed after Okita stepped inside.

“I don’t get it,” Kondou said. “It’s not like Toushi to just vanish like this. Something has to be wrong.”

“Maybe he’s just being an asshole,” Okita said.

“No, he likes to broadcast when he’s being an asshole,” Kondou said. “This has to be something else, something he wasn’t prepared for.”

“Maybe he’s dead,” Okita said.

Kondou rounded on him, fixing him with a pained, disappointed look. “Sougo.”

“What? It’s a possibility,” Okita said. “He could be bleeding out into a gutter right now, for all we know.” Which would be entirely inconsiderate of him, to be quite honest, because Okita had called dibs on Hijikata’s life years ago.

In fact, Okita actually found himself mildly irritated at the thought of Hijikata lying already dead somewhere. Normally he would reflect on that image with pleasure, possibly over his morning tea or after his evening bath, but this—whatever “this” was, Hijikata’s disappearance or death or what-have-you—seemed entirely out of his control, and all he felt was a strange sense of unsettlement regarding the whole situation.

Kondou, meanwhile, looked faintly nauseated at the prospect of Hijikata bleeding out in a gutter.

“And no one’s seen him since yesterday?” he asked.

“Not a glimpse since dinner last night.”

Kondou’s jaw clenched. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at the tatami, tapping one foot. Okita was familiar with this stance; it was the commander’s war face.

“I’m going out to look for him,” Kondou said abruptly, grabbing his jacket from where it hung near the door and swinging it around his shoulders.

Okita blinked at him. “Kondou-san—”

Kondou turned to him with a sad smile. “He’s my vice-commander, Sougo. That means he’s my responsibility. I have to bring him home.”

Okita pressed his lips together and nodded. Kondou had always been like this, especially where Hijikata was concerned. Okita knew when it was useless to argue.

Kondou slid his sword into his belt, adjusting it so that it was within easy reach, and then he paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder at Okita, dark eyes gleaming.

“Oi,” he said. “You coming?”

“Yes, sir.”

*

They took a squadron of four with them when they headed out. Okita wasn’t quite sure what Kondou hoped to accomplish with six men at night in a city as big as Edo, but he wasn’t about to question him; for one thing, he was determined to have the first shot at Hijikata when they finally found him, and he figured being with the search party—if they even counted as a search party—was the best way to do that. So they questioned a few people, kicked in a few doors, yelled _HIJIKATA-SAAAN_ down a few alleyways, all to no avail.

Okita let out a long breath and leaned against the side of a building, waiting for Kondou to finish asking the resident whether she’d seen a tall, dark-haired man in a uniform anytime within the past day or so. Okita glanced over at Kondou’s face when the woman started to apologize and tell him that no, she hadn’t seen anyone meeting that description, at least until now. Kondou looked haggard, as though he hadn’t slept in days, which was ridiculous, really, because Hijikata had only been missing for about twenty-four hours or so, but judging by Kondou’s face you’d think he’d been gone for months.

Okita closed his eyes with a huff, then looked down at his shoes, scuffing his toe into the dirt. Damn Hijikata, that bastard. Okita was starting to get really annoyed now. The longer they searched, the more restless he felt, and there was a tightness in his chest that wouldn’t abate. He wondered vaguely if he was getting sick.

“Sougo.”

Okita looked up; Kondou was watching him, looking solemn.

“We’re going,” Kondou said, turning away.

“Yes,” Okita said, drawing out the syllable. He used his shoulders to shove himself away from the wall, and then something struck him lightly in the back.

Okita spun on the balls of his feet, sword already half-unsheathed, to face the empty alleyway behind him. He squinted into the darkness.

“Who’s there?” he asked, but there was no response. There was, however, a balled up piece of paper sitting in the dirt at his feet. Okita stared at it for a moment, half-expecting it to explode or something, but when it remained boringly inert for a few seconds, he stooped and snatched it up in one hand. It was a newspaper clipping, all crumpled up into a neat little sphere. Curious, Okita unrolled it and stretched it smooth.

 _EXPLOSION NEAR DOCKS TAKES OUT WAREHOUSE DUE TO BE DEMOLISHED_ , declared the headline. It was from that morning. Okita narrowed his eyes and scanned the rest of the article, taking in the important details: _no witnesses… west docks… mysterious explosion… between midnight and two o’clock…_

“Kondou-san,” Okita called, crumpling the article into one fist.

“Yeah?”

“You go on ahead.” Okita turned, keeping his face neutral. “I think I’m going to head back.”

“What?” Kondou frowned, looking concerned. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“I just have a headache,” Okita lied. “I’d like to lie down before it gets worse, if that’s all right.”

Kondou’s expression softened at that, and he almost smiled. “Ah,” he said, “I get it,” and Okita had to bite his tongue to keep from making a sarcastic comment about what Kondou thought he “got.” “I’ll catch you later, then. Be safe, okay? Do you want me to send someone with you?”

“No, no,” Okita said, waving him off, “I’ll be perfectly fine. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he turned and strolled down the street, being sure to keep his pace steady. He glanced back only once about a minute later to make sure that Kondou and the others had disappeared down another street, and then he veered west, into the warehouse district.

*

It wasn’t hard to find the warehouse mentioned in the article. It was mostly caved in, just as the paper had said. One entire wall had been completely annihilated in the blast, leaving a gaping hole facing the water. Moonlight drifted in through the remaining support beams, casting silvery light over what was left of the floor. Near the middle of the room was stretched a large pile of debris—boards and shingles from the roof, a large support beam that had split entirely and collapsed, jagged shards of wood jammed right through the floor.

That was where Okita found the blood.

He stepped carefully over to it, picking his way delicately through the rubble. The blood was dried in most places, still pooled and gleaming in others, almost black in the moonlight. Sticking out from beneath some shingles, half-impaled by the ragged wooden support beam, was a large scrap of dark cloth. Okita crouched carefully beside it and reached out to turn the blood-tacky fabric over in one hand. Gold detailing gleamed up at him, unsurprisingly familiar.

Okita stared at the bloodstained cloth and felt strangely hollow. There was no pleasure in it, which was weird in and of itself, but the worst part was that the tightness in his chest was getting worse. He wondered if he had to cough or something, or if maybe it was karma getting back at him for lying to Kondou about going back to headquarters. Hell, maybe he had to vomit—the smell of blood was still pretty strong—but he’d seen blood plenty of times before, so that was stupid. It was probably just something he ate.

He rubbed a hand over his lips, thinking. Where the hell would Hijikata have gone, in this condition? Judging by what was left behind in the rubble, he’d lost a shit-ton of blood, so there was no way he could’ve gone far, at least not without help.

_Help._

Okita paused, narrowing his eyes. He considered the crumpled up newspaper article in his jacket pocket, the convenience with which he had been led to the scene, the fact that there appeared to be no traps waiting for him there. It was obvious that someone had wanted him to find this place—to put the clues together—and he had a suspicion he knew the culprit.

Okita snagged the bloody scrap of fabric as he got to his feet and shoved it into his pocket beside the newspaper article. He kept his hand on it as he left the warehouse, pressing the cool, damp fabric between his fingers, and tried not to think about why he’d taken it, or why the tightness in his chest was suddenly growing heavier.

He had no time for such inane thoughts.

He had a house call to make.

*

The Yorozuya was dark by the time he got there. Not surprising, considering it was almost one o’clock in the morning, but it still made Okita hesitate for a moment before climbing the stairs to ring the bell; what if his suppositions were wrong? What if the culprit he suspected wasn’t actually behind the clues? Then he’d just be waking up an entire household and letting them know that the vice-commander of the Shinsengumi was missing and possibly dead, which, he assumed, was probably considered confidential information, the better to not spread unrest and speculation, etc., etc.

 _Fuck that_ , Okita thought, but he at least decided to err on the side of caution and knocked instead of ringing the bell, rapping his knuckles sharply on the front door.

Inside, he heard the faint sound of grumbling, followed by the thud of someone’s feet hitting the floor. Seconds later, the door slid open to reveal the boss himself, rubbing the sleep out of one eye and yawning widely.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, glaring blearily at Okita. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“It is, and I’m rather irritated about it,” Okita asked. “Is Hijikata-san here?”

Gintoki eyed him strangely.

“Yeah, he’s here,” he said, scrubbing a hand through his wayward hair. “Can you take him back already? He’s been a pain in my ass ever since Kagura brought him home.”

Okita frowned. “Wait, _she_ brought him here?”

“Early this morning,” Gintoki said, but his voice was too nonchalant, his gaze too calculatedly impassive, and Okita had learned how to catch a lie at a very young age.

“Boss, I know who—”

“Sougo?”

The strange tightness in Okita’s chest squeezed and then slowly began to fade as Okita peered around Gintoki’s shoulders and into the Yorozuya’s living room. A side door—presumably to a bedroom—had slid open, and Hijikata stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on the door. He wore nothing but his dark uniform pants and a wide swath of bandages wrapped around his torso, lightly stained with blood on the right side. There were bandages around his head, too, and around his left ankle and his neck and both of his hands, but his voice was strong (if a little hoarse) and he was mostly in one piece and—Okita noted with a twinge of either disappointment or relief, he couldn’t tell which, it was there and gone too quickly—very much alive.

“Oi,” Gintoki said, scowling over his shoulder at Hijikata. “You’re supposed to be in bed, asshole.”

“Sougo, thank god, get me out of here,” Hijikata said, completely ignoring Gintoki. “They won’t let me out of bed, they won’t give me cigarettes, I think the dog wants to murder me, this woman keeps threatening to cut off my balls if I try to move around too much, and they won’t even let me eat what I want, it’s been a nightmare.”

“That’s because what you want to eat is disgusting,” said Gintoki.

“Out of all of that, _that’s_ what you defend?” Hijikata said.

“So you’re alive,” Okita said flatly.

Hijikata blinked at him, cocking an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. Mostly. Why?”

Okita stared at him. “Hijikata-san, you’ve been missing for more than a day. Kondou-san is having a fit.”

Hijikata frowned. “What? But I told him, I—” He broke off, his eyes narrowing, turning slowly to look at Gintoki. “You said you called.”

Gintoki was digging absently in his ear, not looking at either of them. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

“So no one knows I’ve been here?” Hijikata spluttered.

“That’s what I just said,” said Okita.

“You asshole, what the fuck?” Hijikata said, shoving himself away from the door so that he could swing a wild punch at Gintoki’s jaw. He was in no condition to be moving, though, let alone fighting, so he ended up just staggering against Gintoki, who cursed and sagged as he took Hijikata’s full weight on one shoulder.

Okita turned away from them, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I need to tell Kondou-san that you’re alive before he tears apart the entire city,” he said.

“Tell him to bring me some real food, while you’re at it!” Hijikata said. “And some cigarettes!”

“Your idea of real food doesn’t count,” Gintoki snapped.

“You bastard, I swear to god—”

“I’ll be right back,” Okita said, waving over his shoulder as he stepped away from the door, and he smiled slightly when he heard Hijikata yell his name after him. He’d kind of missed that perfect mix of desperation, exasperation, and rage, all garbled together in the two simple syllables of his name. No one could quite manage that like Hijikata could.

Their voices followed him down the stairs, carried out through the open doorway.

“Lie down before I knock you down,” said Gintoki.

“Dumbass,” said Hijikata, “you can’t knock down an invalid, you’d reopen—”

_THUD._

“— _ARGHFUCK WHAT THE HELL._ ”

Another door slid open, and a new voice—female, brash, sleep-slurred—joined the ruckus: “WHY ARE YOU ASSHOLES BEING SO LOUD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?”

Okita closed his eyes as he reached the bottom of the stairs and fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. Speed-dial one; he pressed the phone to his ear.

Kondou answered almost immediately.

“Sougo? Is everything okay?”

“Yorozuya,” Okita said. “He’s with the Yorozuya.”

“… Oh,” Kondou breathed, and Okita could feel his relief like it was a living thing, twining down the phone line. “Oh, thank god. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“You might want to bring some of the others,” Okita said. “He’s going to need some help getting home.”

A moment of quiet, and then, “Understood. Thank you, Sougo.” Kondou suffused such warmth and gratitude into those last three words that Okita felt his face grow hot. He said nothing in reply, just ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket, and then glanced back up the stairway at the dim lights of the Yorozuya. He could still hear bickering from within, two low voices and one much higher but no less loud. It made him feel strangely warm. 

Something moved furtively in the shadows of the alleyway, and Okita caught the faint jingle of metal on metal, like rings on a monk’s staff. He smirked and leaned against the wall near the mouth of the alleyway, staring up at the sky.

“Well,” Okita said, letting his voice carry, “it sure is lucky that monster girl was walking past the docks when she was. Don’t you think so, terrorist?”

“It’s not terrorist,” came a low voice from the shadows. “It’s Katsura.”

“Of course it is.” Okita shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at his feet, waiting through a few beats of silence before:

“Aren’t you going to attack me?” Katsura asked. Okita glanced at him sidelong; Katsura was dressed like a monk, barely visible in the shadows, and there was dried blood smeared across the front of his robes and staining his hands. Hijikata’s blood, no doubt. Okita looked away.

“Nah,” he said, leaning his head back. “Not tonight. If he were dead, you’d already be bleeding at my feet, but since he’s up there and awake and being a pain in the ass, well…” Okita shrugged. “I guess I can give you a head start, at least. For tonight.” He paused, and then asked, “It _was_ you, wasn’t it? You dropped the bomb that destroyed that warehouse and then, for some reason, brought him back here after you realized that he was seriously hurt.” Silence was his reply, but it was all he needed. “Why didn’t you just leave him behind?” he asked. “It would’ve been one less of us on your ass. I assumed you’d be glad to be rid of him.”

There was another moment of silence, in which Okita wondered if Katsura had already taken him up on his offer of a head start, but then the staff jingled again.

“I don’t kill lightly,” Katsura said, and his voice was firm enough that Okita glanced at him again, meeting dark eyes that glinted fiercely at him from the shadows of a wide straw hat. “Even when it’s a member of the Shinsengumi who decided to follow me on my night off. I’ve had enough of death, and I’d rather not be responsible for any more, especially when it’s the result of an action I took merely out of haste.”

Okita stared up at the sliver of sky visible between the Yorozuya’s building and its neighbor. It was hard to see any stars beyond the amber glow of streetlights, but there were a few multi-colored lights blinking above their heads, courtesy of Amanto spaceships.

“I’m not sure I can promise you the same,” Okita said quietly. “Or if Hijikata-san can. Especially after what’s happened. The next time we meet, don’t expect to be shown any mercy. This changes nothing.”

Katsura was quiet for a beat, and then he said, “I understand.”

“Good.” Okita kept staring at the blinking lights above them, watching them list slowly east, floating on some unknown air current. “Your head start is getting shorter by the minute, you know.”

But Katsura was already gone.

*

Kondou arrived a little more than ten minutes later in a flurry of activity. He paused only briefly to clap Okita firmly on the shoulder, smiling at him the smile of a proud and grateful patriarch, before he bounded up the stairs two at a time to see his vice-commander. Okita followed at a more sedate pace, listening as he climbed.

“TOUSHI!” Kondou roared as soon as he burst through the Yorozuya’s front door.

“Kondou-san, I—” Hijikata broke off with a squawk just as Okita mounted the last step, and one look inside told him what he already knew: Kondou had swept Hijikata into a fierce hug, his face buried in Hijikata’s hair, one arm wrapped gingerly around Hijikata’s back, the other curled around his shoulders. Hijikata’s eyes were wide for a moment, just visible over Kondou’s shoulder, and then he sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his hands lightly on Kondou’s back.

“I’m fine,” Hijikata said quietly, but Kondou didn’t even move.

Okita noted with some appreciation that Gintoki had dragged Kagura (forcibly, no doubt) off to one corner of the room, where they stood respectfully back with their giant dog, watching the scene in silence.

“Jeez, it’s not like he’s actually dead,” said Kagura.

Well. Mostly silence.

“She makes a fair point,” Kondou said, finally pulling away. He ruffled Hijikata’s hair, smiling fondly, and then his smile turned to a scowl and he smacked the side of Hijikata’s head. “Why the hell didn’t you call?”

“Ow, fuck!” Hijikata stumbled back a step, rubbing his head. “I thought curly-head did!”

“And you trusted him?” Kondou said.

“Oi!” Gintoki said; they ignored him.

“Well, why wouldn’t he call?”

“Because he’s a dumbass!”

“OI!” Gintoki said again, taking a step out of his corner.

“Okay, a dumbass who helped to save the life of my vice-commander, and I’m very grateful for that,” Kondou amended, “but a dumbass nonetheless.” He turned to Okita. “Sougo, can you start gathering his things? It’s late, and we should get out of Sakata-san’s hair.”

Okita flipped him an ironic salute and headed into the bedroom. The futon was mussed and slightly bloodstained, the blankets crumpled on the floor. Hijikata’s torn jacket hung on a hook in the corner, along with his bloodied shirt and cravat. Okita stepped over and lifted them down from the hook, staring at the ripped fabric, at the dark, tacky stains. The tightness was starting to come back again, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back down.

He must have stood there staring at the jacket for a while, because the next thing he knew there was a quiet presence in the room with him, and the door was sliding quietly closed.

“Oi.” It was Hijikata. Of course it was. “What’s wrong?”

Okita’s grip tightened convulsively, briefly, around the jacket and shirt, and then he turned to Hijikata, keeping his face carefully blank.

“Nothing,” he said. “You ready to go?”

“Sougo.” Hijikata took a step towards him, and then stopped, frowning. “Look, I’m…” Hijikata heaved out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, okay? For making you guys worry. It was shitty. I should’ve made sure you knew where I was.”

“Who was worried?” Okita said, walking over and shoving Hijikata’s clothes into his chest; Hijikata winced as the movement jarred his wounds, but he caught the clothes before they could fall. “Anyway, I knew you weren’t dead.”

Hijikata’s lips twitched. “Oh, did you?”

“Of course.” Okita stepped past Hijikata, pausing at the door. “I’m the only one who can kill you. And if you let anyone else kill you before I do, I’ll do terrible things to your corpse and post the pictures all over Edo.”

“Right,” Hijikata said quietly, staring at the pile of bloody clothes in his arms. “Yeah. Sounds like a deal.”

“Now hurry up and put a shirt on, invalid,” Okita said, sliding the door open and stepping outside. “You’ll traumatize the townsfolk.”

**Author's Note:**

> it's hard to write sougo with Feelings, but i'm convinced that they're there. buried really, really, really deep.
> 
> pats his head.
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
